


Draco Malfoy and the Absolute Git that is Potter

by bangbangbangtan5eva



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24025765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangbangbangtan5eva/pseuds/bangbangbangtan5eva
Summary: A familiar voice broke through Draco’s thoughts. Potter. He was much closer to Draco than before, so much so that Draco could see the freckling of his skin. Pretty, Draco thought, before realizing how his delusional observation was and snapping back into reality. It must’ve been the Pepper-Up potion.Potter had his hands extended out to him, with one eyebrow up and a small smile gracing his lips.“Looks like we’re roommates.”Fucking of course, Malfoy thought, his headache worsening by the second.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Kudos: 14





	Draco Malfoy and the Absolute Git that is Potter

The sound of life was much too loud for Draco. He never truly noticed it until he was released from Azkaban. There were screaming children and conversing parents and the sounds of a million different animals and soon the conductor was bellowing out “all aboard!” and the children who waited until the last possible second held their parents tight and said their teary goodbyes and then they piled into the compartments laughing, with huge smiles on their faces as if the Battle of Hogwarts did not merely end three, or was it four now, months ago--

His mother placed her hand on his left shoulder, jerking Draco awake from his mental commentary.  
“Draco, sweetheart. You’ll miss the train.” 

The five weeks she and Draco spent in Azkaban awaiting trial had taken a toll on both the Malfoys. Once the epitome of elegance, Narcissa was now a little worn around the edges. Draco suspected that no one but him could tell. Before their temporary imprisonment, every hair on her head was pulled back into the perfect bun she always wore, every wrinkle ironed out, every minor blemish that dared to grace her face magically erased. But now her hair was down and starting to grey at the roots, and the dress she wore fit her frame more casually, less tailored than before. This made sense, as they were now Limited, stripped of their wands and ordered to visit a Ministry official every month to make sure they didn’t step a toe out of line. With almost the entirety of the Malfoy vaults at Gringotts emptied and “donated” to the Ministry in order to repair the damages caused by the war, there was simply very little money to visit Madame Romelda.

Draco lifted his small suitcase from the ground and turned to kiss my mother on the cheeks.

“Please do write me. I’ll get bored in the house all alone,” his mother said as he moved from one side of her face to the other.

“I will, mother. I will see you during hols.”

She gave him a strained smile. Perhaps it was not intentional, as every happy emotion on her face seemed forced nowadays. She smoothed his hair down (not gelled down this year, as the potion he typically used cost more than all of his school books combined) and gave him a short hug before releasing him. He walked into the train, not daring to look back. Malfoys don’t show their weaknesses. Malfoys don’t cry.

As the last to board the train, he could not seem to find an empty compartment. He finally stumbled upon one, with a lone Slytherin second year, he could not for the life of him remember his name, or cared, and sat without asking. The second year, who was engrossed in a book, barely looked up before giving him a small nod before returning to his book. 

He wanted desperately to take a nap, but he knew that the nightmares would come, like they did every time he closed his eyes for longer than a minute. Draco rummaged in his bag for one of his phials of Pepper-Up and tipped it down his throat. The taste was not pleasant, but after having had it so many times within the last few weeks, he was accustomed to its bitter taste. The boy across from him did look at his with a curious expression for a brief moment but once again returned to reading once he made eye contact with Draco.

The Slytherin table was nearly bare. With nearly three-quarters of them dead, withdrawn from Hogwarts, or locked up by the Ministry, it was hard to simply ignore the huge contrast between Slytherin and the other houses.

None of his housemates came back for the “eighth year” of Hogwarts. None of the younger children spoke to him, understandably, as his trial revealed to the entire world that he was marked by the Dark Lord. With only enough people to fill a small part the long table, there was a noticeable distance between him and the rest of the Slytherins, but Draco didn't care. He knew this was going to happen. All he had to do was suck it up, complete the year, and then he would be off probation and perhaps get his wand back. 

Lost in thought, Draco didn’t hear a single word of Headmistress McGonagall’s start of the year speech and realized that he had missed the sorting. Not many children were sorted into Slytherin; only half a dozen this year. His head started buzzing again, and he desperately needed to take another Pepper-Up potion; he had to wait until they were dismissed. Suddenly, the feast appeared before him, and extended down the entire length of the table, despite the lack of students. Draco knew that whatever he ate would most likely come right back up after drinking the horrid potion, so he fiddled around with the small scoop of mashed potatoes he placed on his plate, taking care to mash every single green pea he could find. He nearly followed the rest of his housemates back before McGonagall called all of the eight years to her as the rest of the students marched out of the dining hall. 

There were a few nameless Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who returned for their eight-year. He recognized Loony and one of the twins, he couldn’t tell which one. He vaguely wondered where the other one was, before realizing his sheer stupidity. He felt his cheeks color in shame. Looking away from her, he caught the eyes of no other than the Savior of the wizarding world himself, Harry Potter. Flanked by none other than the Weasel and mudblood, Potter raised one eyebrow at him, as to question the reason why his face currently resembled a beet. Potter hardly looked any different from the last time he saw him in front of the Room of Requirements, scrambling to get away moments after he saved him from death. He should have died in that room. It was easier than being hollow on the inside, slowly decaying. 

He ripped his eyes away from Potter, finally focusing on McGonagall’s words for the first time that night.

“...have your own “Eight Year” dorms, where there will be no division amongst the houses. We are to show unity, respect, and learn to disregard stereotypes that have taken root and have plagued the hall of Hogwarts, and the Wizarding world, since the beginning of time. You are adults, and I expect you to behave like so. Does everybody find this clear?”

Weasley raised his hands, and asked, “Will we be allowed to play for the quidditch team?”

His girlfriend smacked him and rolled her eyes. Draco was surprised that they didn’t get stuck behind that awful mane of hers. He saw Harry stifling a grin, making eye contact with him once more. Potter smiled and Draco quickly looked down at his feet again, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Unfortunately no, Mr. Weasley. Quidditch will only be available for the first through seventh years. Though, you will be welcomed to use the pitch at your leisure.”

He sulked visibly as McGonagall led them through the halls. They finally approached a portrait of a rather glum-looking man, hiding behind the shadow of a low-hanging grapevine.  
“This is Monsieur Jean Javert. He will be the gatekeeper that leads to your dormitories. On the bulletin, there is a list that determines who your roommate shall be.”

Everyone crowded around the portrait of the strange French man, who yelled, “Soyez patient, s'il vous plaît!” and huffing afterward when the eighths years refused to listen. The chattering made Draco’s headache worse; he honestly wanted all of this to be over with and desperately needed a Pepper-Up potion, or perhaps a Sleeping Drought, it was getting very late-

“Malfoy.”

A familiar voice broke through Draco’s thoughts. Potter. He was much closer to Draco than before, so much so that Draco could see the freckling of his skin. Pretty, Draco thought, before realizing how delusional his observation was and snapping back into reality. It must’ve been the Pepper-Up potion. 

Potter had his hands extended out to him, with one eyebrow up and a small smile gracing his lips.

“Looks like we’re roommates.”

Fucking of course, Malfoy thought, his headache worsening by the second.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, let me know if you want more!


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